My love is not a red, red rose.
It's a sickly dime-store carnation,
saturated with pink food coloring.
But thank you, nonetheless,
for the rose.
Let me put them in a vase.
Wait just a moment.
Your love is not a red, red rose.
But thanks for the white carnation.
I enjoyed it, really.
I can't imagine what killed it.
Something in the water, perhaps.